


Too Much of a Spark

by Skalidra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Aggression, Biting, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Hal may be the single most infuriating man that Bruce has ever met. Brash, arrogant, utterly unwilling to back down from anything,ever, and still as eye-catching as a blazing fire. The challenge mainly comes in getting him toshut up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Just a semi-random oneshot for you today. This was a Tumblr prompt for one of those phrase-lists. This was 23. "Just once.", featuring some lovely Batlantern. Enjoy!

Bruce isn't sure that he's ever been quite so frustrated with someone's very existence. If it were possible to slam one of the automatic doors in the Watchtower he just might, but instead Hal follows in at his heels, still talking, still _antagonizing_. He doesn't know how he ever managed to form this team to begin with when one of its members is this brash, arrogant, utter fool of a pilot who leaps in without thinking, who runs purely off his _gut_ , who challenges him every time he opens his mouth.

"—and I'm just saying that it would be a lot faster to go right through!"

"It would risk at least three separate diplomatic incidents if the course wasn't utterly precise," he growls back, stalking over to one of the computer banks in his private — _private_ — room and waking it with a swipe of his hand.

"Oh, so you don't trust me to stick to the course? I'm a _damn_ good pilot, Bats, and you know it!" Hal comes right up to his side, pressing a hand down onto the panel so he has to immediately shut it off again, or risk Hal doing something unintentional. "What's your fucking problem with this mission, huh? Is it because _I_ brought it up? Because it's a GL thing?"

"I don't have a problem," he denies. He crosses over to a secondary panel; less functionality, but it will have to do since his main one is apparently out of commission for the moment. "The longer route is only a few days more and it negates the risk of violating galactic laws; it's a better option."

Hal follows him. "I can make the course," is snapped at the back of his shoulders. "You think I don't know galactic law? That's _my job_ , Bats, it's not yours!"

He brings up the Watchtower's collection of recent reports, resisting grinding his teeth, resisting giving Hal any of the attention the narcissistic Green Lantern wants. "The other League members agreed with my decision. The matter's closed."

"Like _hell_ it is," Hal snarls, and then a hand grabs him by the cape and yanks him around.

He reacts without thinking about it, flicking his cape up to distract and grabbing Hal's wrist with the other hand, twisting it back to drive him to one knee. Which gets him a startled grunt and the impact of that knee to the metal floor before Hal's snarling and swinging his other arm around. The blow doesn't reach him, but the fist of green energy that bursts from the ring on it does, slamming into the center of his chest and knocking him back into the wall.

It expands into an open palm that pins him in place as Hal rises, suit glowing faintly green as the flight and automatic shielding kick in. "Oh, you wanna _play_ , Bats?!"

He flings out a couple pellets the second his fingers retrieve them from his belt, closing his eyes a fraction before they go off and explode; two mini flash-grenades right in Hal's face. There's a sharp yelp, and he's opening his eyes as the construct lets him go, shoving off the wall with his fingertips and one foot to leap towards the Green Lantern. _Distraction._ Stun Hal, or disrupt his concentration in any other way, and it's not hard to get the advantage on him. Get in close and it's easier to hit him from more angles, more often, and dodge the retaliation.

Hal telegraphs most of his bigger attacks, and when it comes down to it he's a medium to long range fighter, not a close-combat one. Not like Bruce.

He grabs a thigh to yank Hal down out of the air, then turns and lifts a leg, rotating hips and throwing his weight into a kick that _slams_ into that green-and-black stomach. Flying doesn't give Hal any resistance to impact, so he hits the opposite wall hard enough to bounce off it and fall forwards. Bruce makes sure to be there, grabbing Hal by the throat to crack his head against the wall, getting a grunt of pain before he twists to spin Hal around and get an arm around his throat, crushing him into the wall and making sure the more dangerous ring-hand is pinned between his chest and the metal.

Hal snarls, feet bracing and free hand shoving against the wall, and he leans more weight into the substandard pin and drives one of his knees into the back of Hal's to discourage any kicks. Hal’s head snaps back, aiming for his, and he pulls back on that throat and guides it back to his shoulder instead. It’s not enough pressure to give him any more than a little bit of trouble breathing, but it’ll keep him pinned until he figures something else out. Bruce will counter that too; this is _his_ arena.

“This is over,” he growls, almost directly into Hal’s ear.

His answer is a slightly choked snarl, followed by a strained, “You wanna _bet?!_ ”

His warning is a fraction of a second of green light shining through the gaps between Hal’s chest and the wall, and then an expansion that flings them _both_ back. He hits the ground, Hal’s not inconsiderable weight coming down on top of him, and just enough of his breath is knocked out of him that Hal wrenches free and rolls off to the side and away from him. He makes himself move before the ache in his chest has even started to recede.

He’s better trained, and he gets to his feet before Hal does, looking down at him and— and Hal is on his knees, glaring upwards, a hand braced on the ground so he can shove upwards and something _pings_ inside him like sonar. Something dark and unwelcome that stirs and murmurs, in a little voice that sounds too much like his own, _doesn’t he look good down there?_

And then Hal is tackling him, arms wrapping around his waist and driving him back with the green glow of that built-in flight to smash him into the far wall. He loses his breath for sure this time, and Hal’s fingers curl into the cape at his shoulders, pushing him backwards into the wall but not really pinning him. Mistake; he can get out of this in just a second and—

“Why the fuck did you hesitate?” Hal demands, pressed close and all but spitting the words into his face.

He holds off on escaping for the moment. “Why does it matter?” he growls back, analyzing how Hal is standing, and what the most effective way to destabilize him would be.

“Because I don’t need cheap shots to kick your ass! Get your head in the game, Bats—” Hal pushes forward, presses hard up against him “—or I’ll find some nastier way to make you focus.”

Maybe his inhalation is a little too sharp, maybe he gives something away in body language, or a twitch of his mouth, but then Hal’s eyes widen. Narrow. Teeth bare.

“Is _that_ it? Are you kidding me?”

He grits his teeth, puts how close Hal is and how _in his face_ out of his mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The fingers curled in his cape tighten. “Like _hell_. All this time and the reason you’re being such a massive _prick_ is because you’re _attracted?!_ ” He can’t help baring his teeth back, curling his shoulders inwards a little because that’s not _remotely_ — “What is it, Bats? Do I threaten your masculinity? Are you that fucking scared of the fact that you’re attracted to a guy that you have to be such an utter, unyielding, stubborn, assh—”

He surges forward, and it’s the fastest way to cut Hal off, the only way that makes sense right in the moment. Hal’s mouth is warm, teeth a hard obstacle, hair curling tight between his fingers as he grabs the back of his skull to hold him in place. There’s a gasp against his mouth, and then Hal meets him, shoving him back into the wall and biting _hard_ at his lower lip, until he feels the sharp sting of it splitting underneath sharper-than-average canines.

He growls, curling Hal’s short hair around his fingers and then _yanking_ back, hard enough to make Hal let go of his lip and to break the contact between them. He can see the tint of red on Hal’s teeth as he snarls, feel the hard pressure of those hands pressing him into the wall.

“I’m not scared of you,” is what comes out of his mouth, low and deep; a _threat_.

Hal's mouth curves in a sharp grin, still aggressive and pissed off but now geared a little bit less towards physical violence. " _Prove_ it, you son of a bitch." At least of a normal kind. "If your problem with me is something else, then you _prove_ it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

"You _want_ to though, don't you? Isn't that why you hesitated?" Hal shoves close again, presses right up against him and breathes against the skin of his jaw. "Thinking about it, you were looking down at me when you got distracted. You like me on my _knees_ , Bats? Figures; control freak like you."

He bares his teeth for a moment in instinctive, violent intent. “You don’t know how to shut your mouth, do you?”

Hal’s laugh is low and strangely filthy, even before it’s followed by the nip of teeth against the slight fraction of his neck left bare by his suit. “No; never been good at that. That a fantasy of yours? Making me shut my mouth?”

Reason — the hundred arguments for why he _shouldn’t_ do this — takes a definitive step backwards, and he breathes out and twists his head towards Hal’s, loosening the grip he has on that brown hair a little bit. “Maybe.” He brings his other hand up between them, letting his fingers graze over Hal’s throat — not even a twitch to betray apprehension — before cupping the sharp angle of his jaw and sliding the rough texture of his gloved thumb over that pair of infuriating lips.

Hal’s mouth curves into a smirk underneath the touch, and teeth chase his thumb for a moment before he says, “I don’t think you want it _shut_ , exactly, do you?”

“Occupied,” he corrects, and then pulls Hal into another kiss. This one on his terms, where he bites first and sharp enough to get those lips to part before he pushes his tongue in. The slightly unpleasant mix of coffee and toothpaste hits him, but Hal is grinding up against him, hot and hard in all the ways he doesn’t usually admit that he likes, and he couldn’t give a damn what Hal tastes like behind all the rest of the input.

He pushes forward and Hal instantly pushes back, stopping his mild attempt to flip them before it even really starts, not that he minds all that much. It’s interesting to be the one held down for once, and by a level of strength that can actually challenge his. He’s got a slight advantage in muscle over Hal, pound for pound, but there’s also an advantage to be had in not having to wear armor and not being slowed down by the weight of it. Hal’s protection is almost paper-thin, factually, even though it’s better than his own armor by miles.

Hal groans into the kiss, and the sound drives him to tighten his fingers in Hal’s hair, stubbornly biting back an answering noise. One of the hands curled into his cape lets go, reaching up and sliding over his neck and then back along the cowl, nails scratching along it.

He forces himself not to give chase when Hal tears free from the kiss, and flicks his eyes open to watch the Green Lantern give a sharp, irritated huff of breath.

“This comes off,” Hal demands, pushing at the edge of his cowl. “That part’s non-negotiable, Bats. Off, _now_.”

It isn’t even that he actually disagrees, but he still counters, “Why?”

Hal snorts. “Because unlike you my life doesn’t revolve around a cowl, and I’m interested in the _person_ , not the mask.” Before he can even be properly irritated about that description, Hal gives a wicked little grin and says, “Or maybe I just want to see your _pretty blue eyes_ , baby. Take the damn mask off, huh?”

It’s probably not worth it to argue, and it isn’t an unreasonable request. This isn’t like his encounters with Selina, who seems to actively enjoy it when he’s still Batman in more ways than he’s not.

He lets go of Hal for long enough to lift his hands and push the cowl back, gloves interacting with the cowl to disengage its security and let him push it back to hang at the back of his neck. He can feel Hal take in a shallow breath, and lets his gaze rest on the white lenses that cover Hal’s eyes, staying still in the moment of pause.

Then Hal laughs and offers, “ _Christ_ , Bats. How do you manage to be more intense outside the cowl than in it?”

His eyes narrow a fraction. “Fair is fair,” he points out. “Yours?”

He can see where the ring on Hal’s hand glows green for a moment, and the domino mask dissolves off of his face to bare brown eyes, pupils blown slightly wider than they should be. He raises a hand, sliding his knuckles down the line of Hal’s jaw and getting a small shiver for it, along with a sharper breath. Hal certainly isn’t Selina, or Diana, or anything he normally prefers, but there’s no denying his attractiveness. Even if Hal is infuriating, he also inevitably draws the eye; like an out-of-control fire.

Hal shifts against him, hand finding his jaw then sliding back, curling into his hair and cupping the back of his skull. “God, I forget how fucking gorgeous you are,” is muttered, before Hal surges forward, all but yanking him into a kiss.

He loops his arm around Hal’s waist, pressing a hard hand against his low back and dragging him close, as if there were any more room between them. Hal’s fingers pull at his hair, gloved fingers scraping against his scalp, smoother than any of the gloves he’s used to. His own are rough-tipped, for grip, but Hal hardly needs to be able to cling to ledges with just his fingertips. His suit is a costume uniform more than practical armor.

He’s the one to break the kiss, but only so that he can tilt his head and get at the skin beneath Hal’s jaw with his teeth. It’s freeing to bite _hard_ , until Hal gives a small groan and then a laugh, and not have to worry about delicate skin or public appearance. This isn’t some society lay that he’s going to have to handle with all the delicate manipulation he’s gotten used to, and he doesn’t have to be careful, he doesn’t have to hold _back_.

He takes Hal’s waist in one hand, slides his other hand up to grab an arm, and then lets go with his teeth so he can shift forward and reverse them in one sharp twist of movement. Hal’s back hits the wall _hard_ , and he gets a surprised sound before he bites down again and it’s lost under a thick groan.

Hal’s hips buck forward, into the solid weight of one of his thighs, and he gives a low snarl into the skin of Hal’s throat, pushing his leg in to provide steadier pressure, to give the little rolling, jerky grinds something to really shove against. He can hear more than feel the scrabbling of Hal’s free hand along his armor as it tries to find something to grab and eventually curls into his cape. His teeth scrape over the part of Hal’s throat that’s bared, bruising marks into the sensitive skin that feel like small victories.

“ _Fuck_ , Bats,” Hal groans, hand now fisted in his hair, breath coming in sharper pants. “You’re not really helping disprove this whole vampire theory, you know. I can see where people get it from.” A thick shudder, as he rolls the skin just below Hal’s ear between his teeth. “You play this rough with everybody or am I special, baby?”

“You can take it, can’t you?” His words come out a deep growl, more reminiscent of what he uses to scare Gotham’s underworld than any tone used here. Hal gives a rough laugh in response, head tilting back a little bit and baring more of his throat.

“You’re a kinky motherfucker, aren’t you?” Hal guesses, before groaning when he closes his teeth over the ridge of his trachea. “Yeah, definitely. Bet you’re into all kinds of fucked up things deep inside that repressed little head of yours, aren’t you, Bats? Wouldn’t want anybody else to know how depraved you really—”

He strikes, leaning back just enough that when his hand comes up and _shoves_ fingers into Hal’s mouth, pressing his tongue down against the bottom of his mouth, he can see the widening of brown eyes and the naked surprise. The hand in his hair lets go, grabs his wrist, and then there’s a moment of stiff pause. Hal inhales around the presence of his fingers, and then those eyes shutter, teeth closing down on his fingers hard enough to hold them in place. The hand on his wrist loosens, fingers lingering but only with the barest of grips.

His breath comes slow, because any faster and he knows it would shake with the level of _want_ flooding his system. “I’m not the only one,” he comments, almost surprised at how low and _hungry_ his voice sounds. Hal’s eyes flicker again, and he gets a small shiver, fingers curling tighter in his cape and pulling to try and get him closer.

He shifts back a little instead, for once letting his base wants be revealed, letting a little bit of the ‘depraved’ out to play. Hal makes a muffled, questioning sound, fingers tightening on his wrist. He pulls downwards.

Hal’s knees give without a struggle, letting the fingers held between his teeth push him to kneel on the floor, between Bruce’s bulk and the solidity of the wall. There he pauses for a moment, partly because of how damn _good_ it feels to have Hal kneeling in front of him, but also to give Hal a moment to back out, if he wants to. There are plenty of ways for Hal to stop this even with his mouth occupied, if he doesn’t actually like the direction it’s turning.

“You _do_ look good on your knees,” he grants, after that moment of pause.

He lowers his free hand to his suit, and Hal gives a muffled moan, eyes hot and slightly lidded, teeth tighter now around his fingers. The hand lets go of his wrist, so both can grab at his thighs instead, gloves scraping over the texture of his armor and hooking into the very slight ridges where the pieces come together. He forces himself to stay deliberate, calmly undoing the hooks of his suit to bare himself. Hal’s gaze drops the moment that it comes loose, even before he’s reached in beneath the waistband of the briefs he has beneath and pulled himself out.

Hal gives a thick groan, and he tugs at his fingers until they come free, neatly hooking his thumb in their place and tugging downwards, till his mouth parts. Even in that moment of half-freedom, Hal still manages to say, “ _Not_ compensating; good to know,” in a thick, wanting tone.

He takes that as tacit permission, pulling Hal’s mouth open with his thumb and then feeding his cock forward into it. He almost shudders at the sensation of it; the wet, hot pressure, contrasted by the cooler roughness of his gloved thumb along the base of him as he pushes forward. Slowly, testing the limits of what Hal can take, and how far. Which doesn’t _stop_.

His breath comes shorter as Hal’s gaze stays trained up, head angling a bit and adjusting and then just _taking_ him until he can feel the hot pressure of Hal’s throat around the head of him, and the lips stretched around his girth settle at the base of him. He shudders then, his thumb slipping free and that hand sliding back to cup the base of Hal’s skull, fingers flexing. His other hand braces against the wall, against the sensation.

“ _God_ ,” he mutters, having to close his eyes for a moment to regain control of himself.

Hal chooses that moment to _groan_ around him, vibrations rippling down his length and it tears an answering groan from his throat even though he tries to stop it, tries to strangle it down. He grits his teeth together, tries to regulate his breathing and calm down somewhat. This is… different.

On the rare occasions that he actually follows through on one of his society dates, or does something in any position that they could see and remark upon his scars, they rarely have the practice necessary to take all of him. And always on their own terms, always slow and steady and careful. Not like _this_.

Hal’s hands push at his thighs, leveraging off, and he could stop it with the hand curled in that brown hair but he pushes back instinct and decides not to. The slow drag off of him is almost torture, and he pushes harder against the wall with his other hand to vent the slightly frustrated desire. Hal’s tongue slides along the head of him, lapping underneath, and any last ounce of belief that Hal might not be practiced at this disappears.

Especially after Hal slides back, letting him fall free, and grins upwards at him with a, “I think I could make a whole damn career out of making you lose control, Bats. Outside of flying, it might be the best challenge around.”

“So I rank below your planes?” he gets out, maybe a bit more breathless than he’d like. “Flattering.”

Hal laughs, breathing right over his cock. Only his self-control keeps him from visibly reacting. “They’re state of the art machines, baby; don’t be jealous.”

He can’t keep the cool front when Hal takes him in again, tongue like a welcome mat and gaze still trained up towards him, still _watching_. That might be the strangest, best, _hottest_ thing about all of it, is that gaze. The physical sensation is incredible — he might need to engage in sex more often, if he’s this vulnerable to the feeling of it — but the prodding thought at the back of his mind that Hal is still (despite positions, despite words, despite _actions_ ) challenging his control shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Shouldn’t be as enticing. He's not used to challenge in the bedroom; he's big, strong, and regularly dominant enough that his normal dalliances never even think to fight him.

Apparently that's just another way that Hal is not like _any_ of them.

His teeth grind together, his hand still pressed hard against the wall for support. Gone is the relative passiveness of before; Hal is working at him with skill it doesn't seem like he should have, and doesn't seem interested in giving him any time to even attempt to regain control. Distantly, his mind catalogs a note to examine what part of Hal's past or present he's missed that added this particular skill to Hal's repertoire. Much more actively, he tries to force it into paying attention to precisely what the sensations are, and the movements they align to, so he knows what to expect.

But Hal is wild, almost never doing what he predicts but also targeting what he enjoys with almost uncanny accuracy, and the unpredictability is driving him both slightly mad and making it utterly impossible to guard against the pleasure burning fire-bright in his gut. Logically, he knows that Hal's doing nothing more than reading his reactions — even if they are minuscule — and then abusing what caused them, but either Hal's irritatingly precise instinct is rearing its head again or he's reacting much more noticeably than he thinks he is. Maybe some of both.

His breaths are coming sharper now; the noises dragged from him still strangled but escaping regardless, and at a much higher frequency than before. His eyes flicker closed at one point and he simply doesn't open them again, which helps, but also seems to make Hal redouble his efforts, working harder at him to force his response.

It feels far too intense for it to be anything but fast, and he tugs at Hal's hair when he feels it, gasps a sharp, "Hal!"

He expects to be pulled away from, for a hand to replace the wet, hot glide of Hal's throat, but once again his expectations are defied. Hal groans around him, the hands on his thighs sliding around and digging into the armor above his ass instead to pull him closer; deeper. His hand must be painfully tight in Hal's hair, but he can't make himself let go, can't do anything but throw his head back and shout towards the ceiling as the orgasm sweeps him off his feet.

He can feel the repetitive motion of Hal swallowing around him, feels the grip of hands on the armor over his ass encouraging him to rock forward and chase the feeling. He does as his head drops forward, hanging as he rides the last half of the release, gaze opening but staring blindly down at the top of that brown hair. Hal's attentions gentle but don't cease, and it's good but it's... too much. Too soon.

Right as he's on the edge of asking for it to stop — thighs trembling faintly, muscles weak but twitching in sharp jerks of shock at the manipulation of too-sensitive nerves — Hal pulls away, letting him slide free again. His eyes shut, breath coming in hard pants. He can feel it by the faint shift in air currents, guesses it beforehand by the slight noises, but when he opens his eyes again Hal is standing and leaning in towards him. He tilts his head out of instinct to accept the kiss, as Hal's hands slide along his cheeks and then back into his hair, tongue pushing into his mouth and claiming his attention.

He pauses for a moment as he recognizes his own flavor, but that’s not an entirely unfamiliar flavor and it’s not enough to stop him. His hand is still loosely curled in the strands of Hal’s hair, and as he is continually denied the chance to catch his breath he slides it around to cup the back of Hal’s skull and keep him close. There’s no resistance to that; in fact Hal is equally involved in keeping them together with a significantly tighter grip in his own hair. Still aggressive, still all hard edges in a way that shouldn’t fit but he now finds himself yielding against.

He pulls his other hand away from the wall, wraps his arm around that leaner waist instead.

Hal breaks the kiss with a groan, teeth baring, fingers clenching painfully tight in his hair for a moment. “How are you such a tightass,” Hal starts, breathless, “but so damned kinky underneath it?”

Before he can judge the comment he says, “You should compare me to Clark sometime.”

A pause. His brain catches up with his words, and he tries not to let any reaction show, even as Hal studies him.

“I don’t know whether the possibility of you sleeping with Superman or spying on his sex life is more interesting, honestly.” Hal’s voice is frank, mildly intrigued but not outright fascinated. “Fun as the idea of superhuman strength is sometimes.”

He raises an eyebrow, and Hal snorts.

“Oh, like you _don’t_ kink on the fact that Diana could carry you over her shoulder like it was nothing. Who _doesn’t_ fantasize about Diana?” Hal’s mouth curls into a wicked grin, voice lowering as he adds, “And I’m not including just guys in there, let’s be honest.”

He considers that for a moment, and then agrees, “Fair point.” Then he tilts his head a bit, studying the sharp edge that arousal has given Hal’s expression, the flush to his cheeks and abused swell of his lips. The conclusion seems obvious; who doesn’t fantasize about Diana (and her strength) indeed?

“Bats, you—”

“Take this off,” he demands, with a nod down towards Hal’s suit. Manifestation of the ring; he couldn’t get it off without literally shredding it, and that’s a step he doesn’t want to take.

Hal’s eyes narrow a bit at the interruption, but apparently the promise of release is enough to forestall any complaints about his manners. For once. Also for once, Hal just does what he’s ordered without asking why, which is pretty gratifying. Brown eyes close for a moment, in apparent concentration, and then the entirety of the suit disintegrates into fading green particles and just like that, Hal's nude in contrast to his full (if still open) suit.

His gaze sweeps downward, admiring the long, tanned lengths of muscled legs and the flat plane of his stomach. The scars are present of course, as they are in almost everyone in their line of work, but not nearly as present as his own collection. More burns however; given that that’s the sort of injury most stray energy beams tend to leave. Hal is lean, fit, and undeniably hard.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” Hal mocks, breath still a bit short. “Your turn, Bats.”

He lets his hands come free from their grips, sinking down to his knees as he presses Hal backwards till he’s flush against the wall. Hal’s hands stay in his hair, gripping near the top of it and scraping fingers over his scalp. He pushes Hal’s legs apart with solid, firm pressure at the inside of his knees, making room for him to push closer and then slide his hands in and underneath those thighs to get a decent grip on the back of them. Then he pauses, looking up, so he can catch the flash of naked shock when he pushes upwards, lifting Hal up the wall for a moment before settling both thighs onto his shoulders.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Hal exclaims, colorfully, as he takes a brief moment to make sure that Hal is more or less secure before slowly uncurling his legs and pushing upwards. The hands in his hair go tight, heels pressing hard against his back as he comes back to standing. Hal’s back is still pressed to the wall, supporting most of his weight, but the rest Bruce has on his shoulders, a knee pressed to the wall to reinforce that support.

He adjusts his grip, wrapping his left arm around Hal’s thigh to free up his right, which he slides over the jut of Hal’s hip. Then he looks up, meeting Hal’s blown, surprised eyes and raising an eyebrow. He gets a sharp burst of laughter for it.

“You’re a competitive son of a bitch, you know that? But that’s…” Hal swallows, hands flexing in his hair, breath coming just a little bit shaky. “That’s impressive.”

Instead of answering he lowers his head, angling it so he can catch the head of Hal’s cock between his lips and then slide over it. Hal almost immediately gives a hitched groan, thighs faintly trembling. It confirms his suspicion that Hal will be just as relatively easy to get off as he was; the work up has been long enough, after all.

It’s not the best of angles to be doing this, but judging by the fingers in his hair and the moans that Hal’s giving him it doesn’t seem to matter. It also leaves him free to slide his gloved hand over the skin of Hal’s thigh and ass, exploring to find what makes the pitch of the moans rise fastest. Like the sensitive crease of his inner thigh. He also gets a full on jerk when he lets the roughened fingertips of his gloves brush over Hal’s perineum, down to cup the weight of his balls.

Hal groans curses through gritted teeth, thighs clenching down on his shoulders and holding him more or less in place with the pressure, heels digging hard enough into his back that he can actually feel it even through his armor. He pulls off enough that he can focus on the head of Hal's cock, teasing the increasingly sensitive nerves with his tongue as he lightly rolls the balls in his hand, with just enough pressure to add to the experience without threatening pain. Hal might appreciate it, but he's not sure he wants to take that risk at this moment.

He closes his eyes to better focus on the precise reactions of the body he's manipulating, listening to the sounds from above him. Hal is louder than a fair amount of people he's been with; vocal and unashamed, but not in an abrasive, screeching way like one or two of the women he's been with. (He does his utter, absolute best to avoid that. His eardrums have taken enough abuse without subjecting them to damaging decibels on his own time too.) There's an enjoyable quality to coaxing sounds out of the quieter ones, but it's also pleasant to hear his attention being rewarded, and he's always been drawn to the lower, deeper sounds of other men equally as much as the higher, breathier ones of women.

One of Hal’s hands slides down, raking mostly blunt nails across the back of his neck hard enough to sting, and before he thinks about it he releases a rumbling growl in reaction. Hal shouts, back arching off the wall, and he can feel the twitch on his tongue, the tremble in the thighs draped over his shoulders.

“ _Bats_ ,” Hal groans, with a sharp tug to his hair.

He understands the warning, but chooses to ignore it.

It only takes a few more moments for Hal to give an even louder shout and arch again, legs clamping down over his shoulders and cock pulsing in his mouth. He swallows, raising his secondary hand to brace Hal’s other leg in preparation for the inevitable relaxation of muscle. When it comes he takes the added weight without a problem, raising his head to let Hal slip from between his lips. Then, carefully, he edges each of Hal’s legs off of his shoulders and lowers him in phases, first to rest on his hips and then to his own feet, one arm around his waist to keep him standing just in case.

Hal’s head ends up on his shoulder, breath coming hot and slow against his neck, fingers curled in his hair and around the back of his neck. After a moment there comes a tired laugh and a slight squeeze of his neck.

“Christ, Bats; you could kill a guy.”

He gives a noncommittal grunt in answer, but doesn’t pull away. He does lower his free hand down between them to put his suit back together though.

“Next time,” Hal says, ignoring his questionable response, “I want to put that beautiful cock of yours to better use. It’s got good heft to it.”

He blinks, turning his head to look down at Hal. “Next time?” he echoes, flatly.

Hal’s head lifts, meeting his gaze with something vaguely puzzled but eternally confident. “Yeah, next time.”

“If I remember correctly,” he starts, raising one eyebrow, “you dared me to prove that my problem with you isn’t that I’m attracted. It’s not. I’m not interested in anything else; relationships between team members are ill-advised.”

The expressions that flit across Hal’s face are complicated, too fast for him to quite catch until it settles on a blend of disbelief and annoyance. “I’m not offering you _roses_ , Bats,” Hal points out, pulling back from him and up against the wall. The ring shimmers, and the green suit reconstitutes itself over all that bare skin. The mask stays off. “Sex. _Fucking_. I call that stress relief, not a relationship. Are you seriously saying that you decided to let this happen just once to prove some kind of a point?”

“Just once.”

Hal gives a rough bark of laughter, and then steps forward and shoves him back a step with a hard push of both hands. “You know, every time I think I’ve seen the limit of how much of a cold, stubborn bastard you are you prove me wrong again.”

He holds his ground as Hal steps forward again, getting into his face and showing bared teeth for a second.

“I think you’re _delusional_ if you think this isn’t going to happen again, Bats.” A sharp sneer, and the domino mask reforms to cover brown eyes. “There’s too much of a _spark_ , and you might not admit it but you enjoyed every _second_ of it. Have fun with your denial.”

Hal steps around him, shoulder knocking his back as they collide, and he fixes his gaze on the wall. Hal’s not _wrong_ , is the problem. There’s too much tension between them for it to be ignored; it has to be solved _somehow_ and— And he’s not against this nearly as much as he should be.

“Hal,” he calls over his shoulder, as he hears the door open.

“What?” is snapped back.

He turns his head just enough that he can see Hal from the corner of his eye, and says, “Put together a logical, reasonable argument for why your route for the mission is better, and we can revisit it before we leave.” There’s a moment of silence — he can see the rigid edge of surprise to Hal’s posture — and then he adds, “Till next time.”

He’s probably not supposed to hear the amused, “Stubborn _bastard_ ,” that Hal whispers, before the louder, “See you next time, Bats.”


End file.
